The False Nation
by PurpleLightning12
Summary: America is the only country without a personification. Instead, the government has issued a series of "Elites" to take the place of their missing representative. What happens when Russia uncovers the conspiracy? This is the story of the 59th Alfred F. Jones. Future RusAme, Past USUK/UKUS.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** _America is the only country without a personification. Instead, the government has issued a series of "Elites" to take the place of their missing representative. What happens when Russia uncovers the conspiracy? This is the story of the 59th Alfred F. Jones. Future RusAme, Past USUK/UKUS._

**WARNING: Historical inaccuracy and future slash pairings.**

* * *

_In the late 1700's, tension stirred between the colonists and the British. While many colonists were content, there were those that wanted America to become their own independent nation. This, of course, would not be an easy thing to accomplish._

_Back then, many more people had known about personifications. Great Britain had Arthur, France had Francis, Italy had Veneziano and Romano, and even Canada had developed Mathew Williams. Expecting that they would soon become personified as well, Americans awaited the day when they would be gifted with a representative._

_That day never came._

_The colonists soon feared they would never become a country. Britain was very strong; they had weapons, an organized military, and several times the colonies' population. The very idea of a revolution was ludicrous. And since the colonies had not yet been embodied as a nation, the people were less than driven towards becoming independent; a plan they thought would surely fail._

_But, there were small groups of people who still believed. These civilians were some of the first patriots. Due to their determination, they came up with another plan: create their own personification. Perhaps by seeing their own representative, the colonists would change their minds about becoming independent. They selected a young boy by the name of Alfred F. Jones to do the job._

_Alfred (who was around four at the time) was a happy, simple child. He had fair skin, dirty blond hair, and big blue eyes. The epitome of what appeared to be a young nation. For weeks, the colonists attempted to convince him that he was, in fact, America. Seeing as toddlers were quite gullible at this age, it didn't take long for the small child to believe in their lie._

_Nations were immortal, and they only aged when they were growing or becoming stronger, such as a child reaching adulthood. In the years to come, Alfred would soon realize that he was aging normally. When this happened the nation would be required to tell Alfred the truth._

_Even so the plan worked, and Britain took the child in as his own. After spending so many years together, the boy had been heartbroken upon realizing he would have to leave England behind. In truth, he had grown quite fond of the man he had for so long considered a brother. Forced to comply, Alfred gave in, if only to spare Great Britain the truth. He rebelled against Britain and helped America become its own independent nation._

_Then he hung himself._

_Even as a free country, the United States of America was never personified into a human being._

* * *

…That was two hundred and thirty six ago. Every five years since then, a new person filled the role of America, aka Alfred F. Jones.

He was number 59. He didn't have a birth name exactly, but his caregivers had fondly nicknamed him after the original Alfred, or Al, for short. He'd even been genetically altered to look like the original Alfred. He had blue eyes, blond hair, and slightly tanned skin. The traits he hadn't been born with were immediately exchanged to look like the first Alfred's features.

_"You have to look perfect,"_ A man had told him at age five, _"Or else others will find out. It is essential that no one knows… If they do, there will be war."_

From that moment on, Alfred's fate was sealed. Pretend to be someone else for five years… and then he could leave. His features would need to be changed, but afterwards he could still get a job and live a normal life. If not, he could always stay and help train his future stand-in. Though only a few had accepted this job, one was still alive… His name had become Afton Thomson, and he was Alfred's mentor.

Even though he hadn't taken the job yet, 'Alfred' was already sick of pretending to be America. He'd been learning lessons, reviewing politics, studying world history… all for a mere five years of work. But that wasn't all he had to do, of course. He had to act like the original Alfred as well. His personality went like this:

One, you had to like hamburgers.

Simple enough. Burgers were awesome, especially with fries and a cool drink. He didn't want to eat them all the time though, just once in a while. Like an occasional thing. If he was immortal, maybe he wouldn't mind as much. But because of all the junk food, Al had started to realize that he'd probably die of a heart attack before he was fifty. And what kind of life would that be?

Two, you need to be physically fit.

The first Alfred was freakishly strong, even if he was just a human. That was a hard thing to live up to. Every day, you had to work out for at least three hours. This was essential because if you didn't, you would gain weight from eating fast-food.

Now, Al wasn't superman, but he might as well have been from the attention he received. It was rumored he could lift a buffalo. _Bullshit._ But the other nations seemed clearly convinced that America had developed super-human strength over the years. So maybe it wasn't impossible, after all. It was still a lie, though, and it would be the easiest one to uncover.

And if 'Alfred' was uncovered, well... he didn't want to think about that.

Three, you're the hero.

Courage, bravery, leadership, and stupid (but good-hearted) ideas were just some of the traits necessary for America's personification to have. Even if his happy-go-lucky attitude was annoying to others, it inspired his own people. Defeat the villain, save the world. That was his motto.

There were many other rules, but these three were by far the most important. They were the first things that Al had learned when he began training. Not only did they fit the American stereotype, but it suited what his people needed as well.

"Pft. Hamburgers…" Alfred bit his lip as he headed down the hallway. It was his first world meeting, and it was being held in Moscow, Russia. Honestly, of all the places to start off, why did it have to be here?

America hated Russia; that was how it worked. Ever since the cold war, every elite was ordered either to ignore Ivan, or act as if he was still a communist country. Being the newbie, this would be very hard for Alfred. The only thing he knew about Russia was from the picture's Afton had shown him, along with some very colorful vocab words.

He stopped at the door. He didn't want to do this. What if he was found out? What if he single-handedly started a war? Alfred's hand tightened on the knob, taking a deep breath._ It's okay, pal... You can do this. This is what you've been trained for. Hell, this is what you were _born_ for. Everyone's nervous the first time, but it gets better. Right?_

The man looked up, suddenly feeling braver, "Okay, America. Let's do this!" And with that, he opened the door and marched inside.

He was late, definitely, but he was America; he didn't need to be on time. He'd just say he was out doing awesome hero stuff, like defeating aliens and global warming!

The room turned to look at him with a blank expression. Slowly, the fear crept back into Alfred's veins. On second thought, this was a bad idea. Maybe he could convince number 58 to work a few more years...

Suddenly, he could hear Afton's voice in his head, _"Keep smiling, idiot!"_ So with a quick grin, he apologized for being late and took his seat next to Canada.

He smiled at Mattie, "Sup, bro?"

Canada was his brother; he'd heard it a million times. At first glance, he could tell that the elites' description had been accurate. He looked just like him! The original Alfred, that is. This boss had personally recommended getting to know Mathew first, since Al had been so nervous about his first world meeting.

Mathew looked away briefly to make sure no one was watching, "You're very late, Al… You need to get here early so the meeting can start on time. I'm not sure the others like being held up…"

Acting embarrassed, America scratched the back of his head. "Sorry… I was preparing a speech for today. Aliens are a big concern, you 'know?"

"Oh, Alfred…" The Canadian whispered, face palming.

Germany, who was opening the meeting with his own presentation, could swear he heard mumbling in the audience. His eyes instantly turned towards America, who was quietly whispering to another nation he couldn't identify. Grumbling, he slammed his paper down on the stand in front of him.

"America! Stop talking!" Germany shouted, before quickly continuing his angry rant about the falling stock markets.

With a nervous laugh, Alfred resigned to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meeting.

* * *

**This first chapter is basically a test run to see how popular the idea is. Don't get me wrong- I hate OC's. But I wanted to make a story where one of the nations was human, and this seemed like the best way to do that.**

**So was it good? Bad? Any advice would be helpful!**


	2. The First Meeting

**Thanks for all the feedback! This chapter took a while, but I think it turned out nicely. If the characters are OOC, just let me know and I'll take care of it :)**

**Oh! And by the way, I revised the first chapter. **

* * *

Only a few more minutes until the meeting ended… The wait felt like eternity. After his brief talk with Canada, he hadn't spoken for the rest of the meeting. Instead Alfred remained silent, secretly investigating the other countries around him.

Just like his boss had told him too.

Nations fought over current world issues, such as economy, trade, and foreign affairs. He avoided most of it, only chirping a small response here and there to avoid suspicion. After all, his government had taken great care not to plan any speeches on his first day. If it had been necessary they would have warned him hours beforehand, giving him the proper amount of time prepare for such an event.

From the moment Alfred could speak clearly the training had become nonstop. He was forced to learn geometry, science, advanced algebra… and especially history. He could hardly blame his country for trying so hard, though. Centuries of knowledge had to be contained in that little brain of his, even if he was six years-old.

However, not _all_ the knowledge had been written down…

England had been glaring at him throughout the meeting. He sat nearby, only a few feet away from where the American was currently seated. The glances passed quickly, almost too fast to make out. To Alfred the whole situation was greatly unnerving… as if he wasn't the only spy in the room.

Something seemed to be bothering Britain. It was obvious from the way he was staring at him. The glare was somewhere between hatred and concern, though that may have been normal for the Englishman. Could he sense Alfred was different? The thought was worrying, but he couldn't focus on that now; he had to focus on the other nations.

So he settled on smiling at the older man. Not your average smile, of course, but one of his award-winning hero grins. The kind that literally said: _"Hey, man. What's up?" _in dazzling red, white and blue letters.

England's features twisted in surprise. He didn't think he had been noticed before. He finally regained his senses and looked away, not daring to glance at the American again.

Alfred frowned. What had he done wrong? Was smiling during a world conference bad? Or was it just the way he did it? Hesitantly he shrugged it off, thinking back to his previous thoughts.

Anyways, he'd spent years preparing for this important role. And now, finally, the day had come when Alfred could put his special training to use. So as far as 'America' was concerned, it'd be nothing but smooth sailing for today… even if the other countries insisted on making it otherwise. But he'd be damned if the lines he'd spent the past thirteen years working on failed him now.

Afton knew better than he did. He'd been a good Elite, and now he was a good mentor. It was his first day and already Alfred was having trouble. Then again, most people in his division had taken off to a rocky start. He would simply have to address him with these concerns later.

Time passed, and eventually the meeting was dismissed. The human stayed in his thoughts though, becoming lost in his own little world as the nations filed out the door.

_That's funny…_ Al thought. _They seem rushed…_

_"Kolkolkolkolkol..."_

Suddenly, the human's mind snapped back to reality. The temperature in the room had dropped drastically. It was cold. So very, very cold… He could feel the blood turning to ice in his veins. Moments later, a gloved hand strongly grasped his shoulder. For a moment the nation's heart stopped completely. A wave of anxiety washed over America, sending tremors down his spine.

_Who… who's there? _Alfred shook his head, quickly reassuring himself. _C'mon, America! Snap out of it! _Besides, heroes weren't scared. Crap, how long had he been sitting there?

The hand's grip tightened, "Shouldn't you be leaving now, Amerika? The meeting has been over for quite some time…"

It was a childish voice, a mockery of a happy tone. The American stopped for a moment, slowly trying to grasp who it was. Yeah, it was definitely him. He wanted to slam his head into the table for not realizing it sooner. It was the guy's country, after all. Of course he'd stay after the conference was done.

Even so, Alfred didn't dare turn around. He'd heard that Russia was a pretty freaky dude. He was big, tall, and he always carried either a pipe or a pickaxe wherever he went. Not to mention that creepy smile… which probably caused the sudden change in atmosphere, now that he thought of it.

The first few conversations were always the worst. He'd make this one short, hopefully leaving the room with his shoulder intact. Alfred closed his eyes, briefly gathering all the hatred and anger he could muster towards the communist bastard.

"What's it to you, commie?"

Ivan was smiling. "You've been staring into space all day, da?" He began, his fingers digging into the smaller nation's arms. They would definitely be bruised later. "I could have expected less, coming from a capitalist pig like you."

America's shoulder ached. Fuck, why was his grip so hard? He just wanted this to be over. He figured his right arm would become disjointed if any more pressure was applied to it. Spinning around swiftly, Alfred knocked the Russian's hand away.

The young nation growled, "Fuck off."

Russia's grin widened, "Nyet. It seems you've forgotten whose country you are in, Amerika. I can do whatever I want. Now leave, before I have you thrown out of it."

Alfred said nothing.

Ivan Braginski had to admit, he was a little disappointed with this response. The American had seemed so much stronger during the Cold War… Back then, he had appeared to be a worthy rival. He was sterner, more powerful... But afterwards, he'd changed. Where had all that power gone? Now he was merely a fool spitting words.

Did he cower in fear at the thought of him back then, as well? Ivan remembered those nights, when he couldn't sleep due to the impending threat of nuclear holocaust. He often wondered if the American had viewed him the same way. Since then, his personality had completely turned around.

Yes, he'd definitely changed.

Even so, the superpower's stupidity had proved to be mildly amusing in the past. He didn't fear him like the others did, and there were times when Ivan doubted his sanity because of it. Like moments earlier, when he'd told everyone to leave the room- Did Alfred stay just to provoke him?

He hated America. Ivan could easily punch his face in, beating it until all that remained was a raw, misshapen, bloody pulp. But that would stain the furniture, and Russia wasn't in the mood to clean up another dead body at the moment. Especially before an important meeting with his boss.

For now, he simply had to get rid of the American.

"Perhaps you wish to become one with the motherland?"

Immediately Alfred stood up from his chair. "Whatever, commie. Go shove your head in a snow bank or something."

With that, the United States spun on his heels before stomping out of the room. The door slammed, and all went quiet. Just the way Russia wanted it.

You see, the world meeting wasn't the only thing taking place on that day. Ivan was expecting a gathering with his government officials, which included his current leader. He didn't know what to expect, only that it would be necessary for him to comply.

So when _his _meeting finally took place, Ivan was quite surprised to hear that it revolved around Alfred F. Jones. He listened carefully, eyes widening at the new information. For the first time in decades, genuine interest unfolded in Russia. This plan would be risky… Yes, he understood what needed to be done.

Let the hunt begin, da?

* * *

America (who wasn't _really_ America, seeing as he was human and all) was throbbing all over. He couldn't believe how much of a dick Ivan was. He hadn't been expecting the nicest guy in the world, that was for sure, but he didn't think he'd have to deal with the biggest jerk on the planet_._

Alfred gripped his throbbing arm, suddenly remembering the pain. Too bad he didn't have superhuman strength like everyone thought he did. He would have slapped that grin right off the Russian's face. His big, stupid, sadistic face…

Ivan was strong. He'd expected it of course, seeing as he was a large nation, but it still came as a shock. He hadn't been prepared today. Next time, he would know better.

The flight was ten hours. Alfred hadn't slept during any of it. He couldn't stop thinking about the other countries and their personified beings. They seemed human, but at the same time, they weren't. How could something be practically immortal? And what exactly caused them to form?

The man ignored these questions, taking a bite out of his burger to sooth his growing hunger pains. The Elites had a house in every state, and after every meeting Alfred would meet up with them at one of the fifty different locations. He would need to review his day, recalling every possible detail that he could remember. This was why he had taken great care to examine the other nations. Well, at least until he stopped paying attention…

The black car stopped at his home in Lansing, Michigan. It was located just outside the city, in a rural area where the houses weren't as abundant. This was where the Elites would be waiting for him, including Afton.

He opened the door, not bothering to check if it was locked beforehand. Alfred knew they'd be there, they always were. So when he saw them sitting casually across the room, he was not surprised. One of them stepped forward with a clipboard and motioned for him to take a seat. The man wore a suit, but unlike the others he did not wear a tie. His hair was a dark brown, and his skin was a very tan. His eyes were vaguely reminiscent of Alfred's, save for the fact that they were red. In all, there were very few features he shared in common with the current American representative, for most of them had been changed after his term. Even so his affiliates had affectionately nicknamed him "Player Two" or "The Alternate America."

Afton spoke first, "So how was your first meeting, Number 59?"

Alfred reviewed the day's events. After meeting Canada, he told his mentor of the other nations and what he had observed throughout the meeting. None of them seemed to suspect anything, no one except…

"England, I noticed him glaring at me. I think… He might know something. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. I kind of got lost in my thoughts after that."

Mr. Thompson (Afton) stopped writing abruptly. He thought for a few moments before adding details to the document. This worried Alfred. Did England know? If this was the case, extreme measures would need to be taken. The man in the suit looked up.

"Ah, don't worry about that. The same thing has happened before. As far as we know, Britain's been holding a small grudge against America ever since the Revolutionary War. I wouldn't worry about it."

The younger man sighed. _Okay, so that's normal. He just hates me... like everyone else so far._

"Just don't insult his cooking."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Alfred went on to talk about Russia, and how he'd accidentally fallen behind the other nations as they left the room. He described the cold feeling, and Afton nodded at his description. Apparently, this was normal for Ivan. Then he took off his jacket, showing the place where his fingers had held him in place.

Once again, Afton stopped writing. He silently waved the other men away, making sure he and his student were alone in the room. Then he studied the bruise, which was now a deep shade of purple. It looked worse than before.

Thompson frowned, "Good grief… What have you been getting yourself into?"

The Elite moved towards the kitchen, mumbling curses and insults directed towards the Russian. He opened the fridge and retrieved an icepack. Alfred cringed as it made contact with his skin, though he was thankful for the numbness that followed. Needless to say, his mentor was less than pleased with the review he'd been given.

"You should have put ice on this sooner. It would have reduced the swelling. Until then, stay away from Ivan. We can't afford to have your cover blown... especially this early."

Alfred just nodded, he didn't know what else to say.

"Sure thing."

* * *

Within hours, it was nighttime. Alfred had decided to stay in Michigan. It was a pretty cool place, and he hadn't been there in a long time. At sixteen, he'd been given the grand tour of all of his future houses, though he would only call them home for five years. When his term was up, he'd be assigned his own place… He'd be free to leave whenever he wanted.

Searching the house, Alfred was thrilled to find an assortment of videogames and movies. He even had Netflix. How cool was that?! He smiled. Maybe being a country wouldn't be so bad, after all… It definitely had some benefits.

Deciding to enjoy himself, the American settled for a movie. He reached for a horror flick. Then he popped it in the Blu-ray player and took a seat on the couch. The movie was about several teenagers exploring an abandoned cabin in the woods. Little did they know, the house was haunted. But as the film progressed it was revealed that the house actually _wasn't_ haunted after all, and it had all just been some government conspiracy to satisfy the monsters and prevent them from taking over mankind.

Alfred rolled his eyes and smiled. As if his government would allow that to happen. They'd never do such a thing... right? Slowly, Alfred's smile dropped. Wait a minute... wasn't he already some sort of conspiracy? And if things like personified nations existed, who was to say that monsters didn't? The thought was very disturbing. Nevertheless Alfred swallowed a handful of popcorn and turned his attention back to the movie.

With the bridge destroyed, none of the teenagers could escape the boundaries of the cabin. One by one, each person fell victim to either their own decisions or redneck zombies with chainsaws. Finally, only one of them was left. An eighteen year-old girl. She crept outside, watching carefully for any signs of danger...

Suddenly, the lights turned off. Alfred yelped, clinging onto his pillow with both hands. He didn't realize how scared he was. For a brief moment he'd thought the film had special effects. He knew better. This was only a simple power outage, nothing to worry about. He could finish watching later.

_Butdudeohmygodwhatifit'saghostorsomethingwhatwillI dowhatwillIdo?!_

The room seemed colder than it was before. That was odd… The heat shouldn't have run out so fast, even if there was a ghost...

"_Kolkolkolkolkolkolkolkolkol…"_

Wait a second.

A hard object collided with Alfred's face, and the ground rushed up to meet him. Red splattered across the floor. The world was spinning, and the urge to vomit was quickly becoming unbearable. It had all happened so fast. What the hell was going on? Why couldn't he move? His mind remained in a confused state, trying to put the pieces together.

Russia watched as the poor man writhed in agony on the floor. Da, he was still awake. This would not do, he needed him unconscious. He brought his pipe down once again.

Alfred could taste the metal.

* * *

**...And that was the second chapter.**

**Feedback is loved. I'm hoping for at least 5 reviews :)**


	3. Interrogation

…_Where am I?_

This was the first thought to enter Alfred's mind as he awoke. Lazily, he lifted his head to see his surroundings. The room was cold and dark, and the air smelt damp and musty… Like nothing had been there in a long time. Above him, the cracks in the floorboards produced a dim light, revealing the few features that the room contained. The walls were obviously made of concrete, so Alfred figured that he must have been in some kind of basement. They were also splattered heavily with dirt… Or was it blood?

For one horrifying second, Alfred didn't know who he was. The memories were still too fuzzy to make out. Realizing this, he slowly began to panic. What was his name? Oh god, what was his _name?_ The answer didn't come, and for a while Alfred was positive that he was going to die. He wanted to scream, but that would alert whoever his kidnapper was. And he was sure that he did not want to meet that person.

The man swallowed, his heart rate quickly beginning to rise. He attempted to stand, but failed miserably when he realized that he was tied to a chair. The binds were very tight. Whoever secured them must have wanted to make sure that he wouldn't escape. An unnecessary precaution, but who was he to judge? They weren't exactly bothersome after all, but they did cut into his skin whenever he moved, and that really did hurt. What Alfred didn't get was why someone would want to do this to him in the first place.

Instead, he drifted off into his thoughts. It was best to remain calm in a situation like this… or at least, that's what someone had told him. Relax, control your breathing… Think about something else.

Wait, his name…

He sighed in relief. _Okay, so my name is Alfred… What else can I remember?_ Slowly, the memories came flooding back to him. He was a member of the Elites, and the current representative of the United States. The last thing he remembered was being at his home in Michigan when suddenly Ivan had appeared and decided to knock him unconscious…

Great… kidnapped on the first day. Afton would be very, very displeased. Just what was that communist thinking? Force him into a coma and then tie him to a chair? It seemed accurate enough. Who knows, maybe he'd misjudged Ivan. Maybe he was more insane than Alfred thought.

Feeling around, the young nation realized that some of his clothing was missing. His favorite leather jacket was gone, which was a shame because an assortment of weapons had been hidden inside it. There was even a switchblade he could have used to cut the ropes.

_Drip…_

_Drip…_

_Drip…_

That dripping noise had been going on for a while now. It was driving Alfred crazy. He could now conclude that he was _definitely_ in a basement of some kind, because a pipeline was leaking above him.

Overhead, Alfred could hear footsteps, causing the floorboards to squeak and rattle as they came closer to the doorway. Someone would be there soon. And he knew that someone would likely be Russia. He'd likely want some information on his government, or try to discover his captive's secret, but Alfred knew it would never come to that.

Besides, there was always Plan B.

He began rocking back and forth, tilting the chair to one side. Hopefully he could knock it over. If he was lucky, he may even break the straps.

_Thunk!_

On second thought it was a stupid idea. Great, now he was on the floor. Why did he do this again? Right, to free himself… idiot…

Alfred swore.

* * *

The World Conference was held at least once every year. This year there had been two meetings, one in late April and another in June. The next conference would take place somewhere in Austria, though a date had not yet been confirmed. It had always been difficult to gather so many nations in one place year after year, but somehow they managed to make do.

Russia did not mind this. He did not mind traveling from coast to coast to take care of business with foreign governments. That much—at least—was easy. The real problem was the effectiveness of these meetings. How long had it been since they'd actually accomplished something? The progress they made (if any) was slim even on the best of days. It was needless to say that it annoyed Ivan greatly.

At least he'd been allowed to host the meeting this time—a rare honor that allowed him to stay close to home. He much preferred the peace and tranquility that his country had to offer instead of the rambunctious nature of most other nations. It was easier to remain in one place… quieter. It had never ceased to amuse him how idiotic some of the other personifications acted. To be perfectly honest he despised most of them, secretly envisioning their downfalls in every spare moment he had.

Ivan paced around his room. America really should have woken up by now. Perhaps he had hit him harder than he'd originally intended, or maybe he simply shouldn't have hit him twice. Either way the man had been surprisingly easy to kidnap.

Suddenly his mind snapped back into focus. There was a sound of crashing down below, followed by some very choice words from his captive. It seemed that the world's superpower had fallen off of his chair—probably due to how tightly he'd tied the ropes, no doubt. Russia smiled. So he _was_ awake after all… that was good. Ivan was beginning to think that he'd gotten a little too carried away.

He turned towards a drawer on the far side of the room. He briefly considered retrieving a crowbar, but changed his mind at the last second. Nyet—his lead pipe would suffice. Why use a tool to pry open the floorboards when he already had a weapon that could function as both?

He had a secret room downstairs. It was rarely used—except for storage—and nobody else knew about it besides him and a few other… unfortunate people. In fact he had nearly forgotten about its existence until the last meeting. It had been very well made too, which was a shame because he hadn't been able to use it since the late 1980's. The only way to get inside besides tearing open the floorboards was to pry open a small compartment in the ground. This was where his pipe would come in handy. The only fault was that he hadn't been able to sound-proof it yet…

But oh well. He'd get there eventually.

Ivan could still vaguely hear the sound of movement as he approached the small door. The ground beneath him squeaked with every step. Apparently Alfred must have heard the noise, because the sound of shuffling below ceased almost instantly. Again, a childish grin spread across the Russian's face. Good, so the burger-munching capitalist seemed to be paying attention…

He wrenched the door open and stepped down inside. His eyes scanned the room, tilting his head curiously at the American lying sideways in his overturned chair.

Da, he had figured as much.

He watched as the man glared from his spot on the ground, seething with anger as his eyes adjusted to the newfound light. It was a pathetic sight— seeing the world's superpower defenseless, lying on the concrete floor… He was actually tempted to leave him there. After all, it was a very humiliating position. What would the American's reaction be? Ivan considered this for a few moments before deciding against it. No, he needed to get his work done. There was no time for distractions.

He closed the small door, submerging the room in darkness. After a minute he managed to find the light switch. He flicked it on and continued to move towards the tied up nation. Without uttering a word, Ivan grabbed the back of Alfred's chair and forced him upright, slamming his head against the wall.

The man yelped a little, and the next thing he knew he was staring straight into the Russian's eyes. All the traces of childishness he had seen during their first meeting were gone, leaving a sullen, completely serious expression behind.

"Good morning, Amerika."

The nation stared back. A look of defiance was plastered across his face. He'd obviously been struggling, and upon further inspection Ivan could see the beginnings of bruises forming on Alfred's fingertips from trying to until the ropes. He had actually made a great deal of progress. If Ivan had delayed himself for a few minutes longer then he might have been able to free himself.

America growled, "Dude, if you're going to drag me all the way here then this better be pretty friggin' important."

"I assure you it is," Ivan said smiling, "but first…"

Reaching into his jacket, he retrieved his weapon and held it menacingly. He had almost forgotten about the American's certain way with words. He was going to have to get rid of that attitude if he was going to get things done. Without further protest Ivan brought down his pipe swiftly on Alfred's left kneecap.

"AHHHhhHHHh!"

"Now is not the time to be joking, Amerika," Ivan spoke, venom dripping from his words. "It amuses me that even in a hostage situation you fail to take things seriously. I am going to ask you some questions, and I would highly recommend answering them truthfully. If not I'm afraid that you will have to go back to sleep. Do we understand each other?"

Alfred hissed in pain. He was quite positive that no, no they did not understand each other. His only concern at the moment was his leg, which stung like hell after being beaten with half a faucet. It was amazing that it hadn't been broken on impact. It was needless to say that after that incident he didn't care what the Russian had to say—he was not answering his dumb questions! The commie could throw himself in front of a train for all it was worth!

"Questions!? After that?" America gaped, "Hell no! Not if you're going to—"

"I am curious, Fredka. Do you know where you are?"

He paused for a moment, too livid to inquire about the nickname. After a while seconds his anger began to dissipate. He thought about the last place he'd been. He probably wasn't there now, but it was worth a guess.

"Lansing, Michigan."

Ivan shook his head.

"Nyet, you are quite the long sleeper, Amerika. While you were unconscious I brought you to my homeland."

Alfred's eyes widened. _Crap._ Well, that would certainly explain why it was colder… Though if he was in Russia now, how long had he been asleep? It had to have been a day at the least, maybe more. And if he had been unconscious for so long then he should really see a doctor. After all, Ivan didn't know he was… well, human. He wasn't made out of iron or steel or whatever these people were made of. If this continued his captor might actually kill him.

He couldn't afford to risk losing his life—not yet, anyways. It was a sucky situation, but there wasn't much else he could do. He needed to get out of there, and in order to do that he needed to answer this homicidal maniac's questions. So, swallowing the last of his pride, Alfred spoke.

"What do you want?"

Russia lowered his weapon. It looked like they were going to make progress after all. He had to admit though; he was disappointed in the lack of resistance from his captive. Regardless he pulled out two pictures.

One was of Alfred during a conference. He appeared to be sitting at a table next to his boss, discussing matters with the current Russian president. The second photo was also of Alfred, except this time he was simply taking a walk. Even though the image was blurry, you could clearly tell that it was him from his signature cowlick and the number fifty on his back.

"These pictures are from less than a year ago. One was taken during a very important meeting between your boss and mine, while the other was taken somewhere in Virginia. These are both you, correct?"

The color drained from Alfred's face. He knew for a fact that it wasn't him in the first photo since he hadn't been working then. It must have been number 58, the United States impersonator before him. The second photo, on the other hand…

That really was him. He had been finishing the final courses of his training at the time, so it wasn't often that he was let out of the Elite headquarters. In fact, it was strictly forbidden for a worker at his age to be wondering around. The reason was obvious, but Alfred had blatantly ignored the higher-up's orders and snuck out anyway. He had completely forgotten about the security cameras, which had no doubt captured the photo.

Wait a second…

"You've been hacking into our computers!"

Granted, his country did the same thing to them—especially during the Cold War—but this was completely different. These weren't military designs or war plans. This was a national secret that someone like Ivan had no right to know about! How had he managed to hack a random building's security network from overseas, anyway?

Russia smiled innocently. "Similar to your country's NSA, da? It is only to be expected of foreign governments to want to see what other countries are doing behind their back."

Alfred replied, "So? Is like, taking a walk illegal or something?"

The same feeling that had appeared in the meeting room a day earlier returned. The Russian was chanting again, but oddly enough his lips weren't moving. It was very creepy to say the least. Alfred could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and he fiddled with his ropes nervously.

But as quickly as the aura had arrived, it disappeared as Ivan regained his composure. He held up the photos again, gesturing to a small number near the top of each one: a date.

"Taking the time zones into consideration, you were in the same place at approximately the same time. There cannot be two of you, Amerika. So tell me… what were you doing in two places at once? Are you sending spies to your meetings?"

This time Alfred did not respond. He wasn't quite sure what to say. He couldn't tell Ivan the truth, could he? It would put his entire country in jeopardy, and something told him that the older nation wasn't so good at keeping secrets. It made him angry to realize that in a way this was his fault—even if he hadn't meant to do any harm. Because of him, the lives of his citizens were in jeopardy. Because of him…

"Answer the question, Fredka."

Fuck it. He wasn't going to satisfy the bastard with an answer. He struggled against the ropes. To the average person he would have looked ridiculous, but you see, there was something else that Ivan didn't know about Alfred…

He was pretty damn good at untying things.

Alfred burst out of chair, startling Ivan and kicking him in the face. _Take that, commie!_ Then he flung off his ropes and made it towards the small door, attempting to open it once before realizing in horror that it was locked. Ivan was on him in an instant.

He barely managed to avoid his grasp. He made it back to the chair, picking it up and flinging it at the approaching nation with full force. Ivan stepped off to the side and dodged it before tackling Alfred against wall. Their faces were less than a foot apart.

"I really hate you, you know that?"

"I hate you as well, comrade."

In Alfred's mind, he felt exhausted. This was not the way things should have worked out. He should've been at home, relaxing and honing his videogame skills… Maybe even interviewing his "brother" to see what he liked. _Anything_ but this. By now he was running low on options. He couldn't escape, but he couldn't let Russia find out about anything either. His sole purpose was to make sure that his secret stayed hidden and his people were safe.

He sighed. Well then... Plan B it is.

Click.

Alfred grinned, "See you later!"

All at once Ivan realized what he was doing. It was a common method used by soldiers who were captured by their enemies. To avoid spilling secrets under torture, you would pop a hidden capsule. This was usually hidden in a tooth near the back of the throat. Then the hostage would swallow the fail-safe… and die shortly afterwards.

The American had swallowed a cyanide pill. For a moment, Russia was shocked at the sudden turn of events. He hadn't expected this to happen. Was he really willing to kill himself over such a small matter?

Nyet, something wasn't right here.

Ivan grabbed Alfred's face. Stupid American… that pill was not going to go down. Even if he had to pry open his jaws to get it.

The nation's mouth was clamped shut, refusing to open. This wasn't going to work either. Suddenly, the muscles in Alfred's throat moved, and Ivan knew he was out of time. In a final desperate attempt, he slammed the American's head against the wall and clenched the other man's neck as tightly as he could.

The reaction was immediate. The cyanide capsule escaped his mouth, and Alfred's concussion came flooding back to him. His mind became fuzzy, and Alfred was vaguely aware that a strong pair of hands were gripping his throat. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head… _Wait, no! He would not fall unconscious again… That was not what heroes did, damn it!_ Alfred weakly struggled against Ivan's firm grip. _This couldn't be happening! He needed to stay awake, he needed to…_

Alfred didn't know when he'd fallen on the floor. His legs refused to budge, and darkness was quickly consuming his vision. Crap, at this rate he'd fall into a coma… Using the last of his strength, he sent a hate-filled glance towards the Russian. Then he spoke, the corners of his mouth upturning to form a small smile:

"Looks like you win, big guy."

Ivan released his grip on the man's throat and stepped back. He had just noticed something about Alfred F. Jones that he hadn't realized before. It wasn't the strange lack of resistance or the seemingly nonexistent willpower to fight—no—but it was the feel of his skin. It was… light. Thin. Fragile.

_Human._

He rolled up the man's shirtsleeve, closely examining the large bruise on his shoulder. That was where he had grabbed him during the conference. Had he really done that much damage? Ivan stood there in silence, unable to close his eyes for fear that he might not be seeing reality. But there it was, right in front of him—a weak, defenseless human who was still very much the United States of America. It didn't make sense—none of it did—but how could he have missed it before?

"Nyet… this is not possible. There is no way…"

There had to be some mistake. And when Alfred woke up again, he would have some very serious explaining to do.

* * *

**Sorry about Ivan being a jerk… But don't worry! He'll get nicer. England will appear after the next chapter as well as some other nations :)**

**I've been gone a long time, haven't I? Blame it on my writers block. I just couldn't get the sentences to sound right… it's like they didn't flow properly, you know? I tried my best on this chapter, though things still seem off for some reason... I'll have to do something about that. I have plenty of ideas now, so I'll make sure the next part gets up within a few weeks.**

**As usual, feedback is awesome. I hope you guys are having an awesome summer!**


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